


Scene Me To Sleep

by EdgarAllenPoet



Series: The Outfield [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Collars, F/M, Gags, Kidnapping, Kneeling, M/M, Platonic BDSM, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Sheith, Romantic Fluff, Scene Gone Wrong, Submission, Tickling, as a kink, just saw the tag 'nonconsensual tickling' and i'm cracking up, klance, requests welcome, shallura - Freeform, the hairbrush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11839497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: A collection of scenes from The Outfield au."They’d been playing together long enough to get away with this type of thing."





	1. Shallura- Submission

Originally they had planned on doing mummification that day, but when Shiro appeared at Allura’s apartment with bruises around his eyes, standing in such a way that suggested holding his head up was just about pushing him to the edge of collapsing, Allura couldn’t very well go through with it.  They’d never done bondage that extreme before, and the times they had done bondage n the past had been long, painstakingly slow scenes that riled them both up and kept Shiro very much within his own mind.

 

That was not the kind of thing Shiro needed when he looked like that, and Allura knew her sub too well at this point to go through with it.  Shiro would either safeword five minutes in, spouting apologies and looking like he’d caused some kind of great inconvenience, even though he knew better than to feel guilty over safewording (although with mummification it would have been at least kind of an inconvenience, considering the amount of material they were planning on using, but hey, that was all the more reason to save it for another day).  He would either safeword early and beat himself up over it, or he would tough it out like a good little soldier and spend the whole scene uncomfortable and vaguely miserable. 

 

And that was just absolutely unacceptable. 

 

But Allura knew her sub, and Allura knew what he was likely to do.  Allura knew that when Shiro looked like the effort of standing up straight and forming a coherent sentence was too much, there was a pretty easy way of fixing it. 

 

“You’re late,” she said, looking him up and down.  He wasn’t late.  He was exactly three minutes early, but Allura wasn’t going to tell him that.  With the tone of voice she was using, he knew- the scene had started the moment she opened her door. 

 

They’d been playing together long enough to get away with this type of thing. 

 

Apparently, though, Shiro was feeling a little petulant that afternoon.  He tilted his head to the side and asked, “I am?” in a tone of voice that was anything from innocent.  So that was how they were playing this today, then.  That was fine.  Allura was more than prepared. 

“Shoes off,” she said, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow him in.  “Go stand in the corner.” 

 

Shiro stepped into the apartment and out of the way so that Allura could close the door.  He slowly toed his shoes off- gym shoes, and it was likely that he’d gone for a run earlier that day.  He liked to run to clear his head.  Apparently it wasn’t enough today- but didn’t move any further, staring her down with a doubtful expression. 

 

“Go,” she said, voice leaving no room for argument even as she offered an ultimatum.  “Or am I going to have to make you?” 

 

Shiro conceded at that, crossing the room and stepping into the empty corner, nose against the wall, hands at his sides, spine straight like he was standing in front of a commanding officer.  And hell, sometimes that was how they played things. 

 

He held himself so still that he was shaking, and that’s what proved that it had really been a bad day.  On good days Shiro was playful, insubordinant for the sake of teasing.  Sometimes they didn’t even do a scene, just pushed the couch out of the way, spread out foam mats, and wrestled. 

 

Shiro was excellent, and stronger than she was, but Allura’s parents had raised daughters who would be able to defend themselves.  Coran had many a home video of her and her sister at classes, wearing tiny gis and laying devastation to the other eight year olds in their division. 

 

So Shiro was well trained and had a substantial advantage in strength, but Allura had almost two decade’s worth of muscle memory on her side.  She could force him, if she wanted to.  But that wasn’t what he needed today.  That wasn’t normally how they played things anyways. 

 

They didn’t play the way Shiro and Keith did, even when they were being more physical about it.  ALlura had seen them scene a time or two before, watched the way Keith genuinely fought back, disobedience and disrespect leaking out of him like a rupturing faucet.  They were entirely different types of bottoms, fundamentally.  Keith didn’t want to submit, didn’t want to do any of it willingly, whereas Shiro gave himself over neatly packaged and wrapped in a bow (not literally, but that certainly was a nice thought…).  

 

Keith wanted to have all the fight drained out of him.  Shiro didn’t really want to fight at all. 

 

Not against her, anyways. He was more than willing to fight with himself.  There were times where something as simple as the order to stand still was enough to drop Shiro, make his breathing even out and his eyes go calm, a simple task taking up all of his attention and calming his racing thoughts.  Today that wasn’t enough.

 

He was still thinking too hard, struggling with it, practically shaking with the efforts of not moving and refusing to let himself relax.  Allura approached him, purposefully stepping heavy but slowly on the carpeted floor of the apartment so he would hear her coming.  She cupped the back of his neck, pushed her fingers through the buzzed hair at the nape of his skull, and pushed his head forward gently until his forehead rested against the wall.  

 

“Breathe, Takashi,” she hummed.  “Don’t worry about keeping still.  Just breathe, relax.” 

 

Shiro’s breath escaped him in a shudder, and from where Allura was standing she could see the way his eyelids fluttered closed, the tension that fell off of his face as he breathed.  He pushed ever so slightly into the pressure of her hand on his neck.  She ran her fingernails over his scalp, felt him tremble under it. 

 

“Come here,” she said, a few minutes later, once breathing no longer seemed labrous and the rigidity had gone from his spine.  She stepped away, sat down in the center of the couch.  Shiro turned and padded slowly over to her, eyes still downcast, bare feet silent against the floor.

 

“Kneel,” she said, when he got to her.  He dropped effortlessly to his knees, folding his long legs underneath him and clapsing his hands behind his back, bottom resting back on his heels, head still tilted forward.  She urged him closer, until she felt the heat of his shoulder hovering close to her thigh.  She put her hand back in his hair, short from a recent trim, squeaky clean from a shower, and guided his head to rest against her knee. 

 

“Relax,” she murmured, and the remaining tension slumped out of him.  

 

Sometimes that was all it took.  Other days his submission would require more specific instructions.  She’d tell him to go to the kitchen, get her a glass of ice with exactly three ice cubes in it, give him sixty seconds.  Or they’d sit at the kitchen table together, and Allura would order him not to move a muscle until every paper for his 101 class was marked and graded.  Sometimes he wasn’t allowed to walk, only crawl, but that was for special occassions when he wanted her to, and I quote, “take him down a peg.” 

 

It wasn’t too often that Shiro felt the need to be humbled, though.  He did a decent job of handling that one himself.

 

Other times they had more fun.  There was the wrestling, of course, but not all of their scenes kept them both fully clothed like the one they were doing currently.  They’d discovered that the fragile skin covering Shiro’s abdomen, chest, and arms was dangerously sensitive.  Tying him down and tracing the bumpy landscape of his roughly repaired skin was enough to drive him to tears from overstimulation alone. 

 

And then, of course, the sex was always nice.  His thighs were broad and soft and oh so pretty when covered in bite marks.  Once she’d tied him down and covered him in an impossible number of lip marks (the color was “Magnetism” by Mac and Allura couldn’t think of a better word to describe the two of them) then rode him nice and slow and smeared the color all over him.  

 

Seeing him marked all over like that was satisfying.  Watching him struggle to scrub all of the waxy color off of him later was even more so.  

 

“Stop laughing at me,” he’d complained in the shower, rubbing the side of his neck raw with a wash cloth, a barely contained smile dancing across his own lips.  “You’re such a sadist.” 

 

“Just the way you like me,” she’d shot back, and they’d ended up wasting the rest of the hot water without even cleaning off, pressed together against the wall of the shower and making out under the hot spray.  

 

Her sister had not been pleased when she’d gotten home. 

 

But today her sister had a double shift at The Red Lobster, so they had all the time in the world.  Later, they’d curl up on the couch with tea and a stupid reality TV show, and Shiro would tell her exactly what had gone wrong to have him as upset as he was.  Allura would complain companiably about how her sister never took it upon herself to do the dishes, or about a TNG meeting gone awry, or about her colleagues at work.  They’d curl close and enjoy each other, finally, blissfully relaxed.

 

But not yet.  That took time.  

 

“I’m going to put your collar on you,” she said, pulling the heavy combination of chain, lace, and leather out of her pocket and buckling it on the side of his neck, not making him pick his head up.  She didn’t want to undo the progress they’d made.  She ran a finger under it, pulled it around until the buckle rested on the hollow of his throat, and then resumed scritching her fingers through his hair.

 

He nuzzled her leg happily, eyes closed, head heavy with exhaustion, and call her a sap, but Allura’s heart swelled slightly.  

 

The Shiro she’d fallen in love with was tall and powerful, steadfast in himself and generous with everybody.  He took no shit, but he always had a word of advice or comfort for anyone who needed it.  He was playful, and serious, and devastatingly intelligent.  He held himself tall and never,  _ ever _ seemed to falter. 

 

But this Shiro was hers to love too.  Sensitive and vulnerable and obedient.  Childish occassionally, but oh so eager to please.  Submissive, down to his core, and though she’d known him long enough to be long past the illusion that he was perfect, that was the word that came to mind.

 

It was magnetic, the way the two of them were constantly drawn together.  He was perfect, beyond anything he would let himself believe.


	2. WTF Did They Do With The Hairbrush?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I knew you’d be into this,” he said, as Lance trembled underneath him.

It all started when they were making out. 

With the dorm rooms empty and the whole campus shut down for winter break, there wasn’t a whole lot for Lance and Keith to do with their time. Lance insisted they spend the first day doing absolutely nothing because ‘I need my beauty sleep, Keith. We can’t all be sleepless cyborgs like you.’ He’d passed out around eleven p.m. the Friday of finals week, and he’d laid bonelessly on top of Keith until 4 p.m. the next day, wrapping his arms around him and biting at his neck every time Keith made a move to leave the bed. 

Lance was staying in Vegas an entire week after finals had ended, but barely two days had passed, and the two of them were already dying of boredom.

Lance didn’t have work. He said Coran had banned him from the store, saying he deserved to relax and “go do young person things,” whatever that meant. 

Apparently making out with his boyfriend counted as a ‘young person thing.’ And it was doing this that inspired them in the first place. 

“Trust me,” Keith said as he ran his hand down Lance’s bareback, from his shoulders all the way to the backs of his knees. He squeezed Lance’s leg gently, just above the right knee, and watched Lance squirm in his lap. Keith was propped up against the wall, legs folded indian style underneath him with Lance spread out over his lap, both hands attached to the headboard with an easy scarf knot, legs free, head ducked down against the bedding to his a blush. 

“If this isn’t fun for you, tell me,” he reminded, watching Lance’s back rise and fall with quiet breaths. He was warm, hot, radiating heat and just a little sweaty from nerves. “I think you’ll enjoy this, though.” He was almost sure of it. 

It was Sunday afternoon when inspiration struck. They were both fully clothed- socks and shirts and jeans getting in the way of their festivities while also providing a very safe barrier between the two of them. Keith knew Lance was more than ready to take it up a level, and he knew that theoretically Keith was also totally on board with that plan. He just… wasn’t ready for that yet, couldn’t figure out why. Lance said that was fine, and Keith believed him. 

Didn’t mean they couldn’t have a little fun. 

The clothes were acting both as a safeguard and a creative obstacle while their hands wandered everywhere they could above the waist. What started as kissing had gone up a step when Lance started sucking on Keith’s throat- Keith, pinned to the bed, couldn’t do much to stop him. Not that he wanted to. 

Lance had also thought it was a good idea to ruck Keith’s shirt up his chest and blow a raspberry on his stomach, which Keith responded to with a slap that wasn’t hard enough to hurt but definitely got his attention.

Lance had pouted up at Keith with giant blue puppy dog eyes and rubbed his sore cheek with the palm of his hand until Keith hauled him back up the bed and kissed the daylights out of him, and it went from there. What started as kissing turned into Lance biting at Keith’s neck, tiny nips of pain that shocked happy gasps out of Keith every once in awhile. 

Keith dropped his head back against the mattress and let Lance have his way with him, eliciting groans every time Keith threaded his fingers in Lance’s hair and tugged, trying to get some tiny form of revenge for all the love bites. 

Eventually his hands tired of Lance’s hair and slipped up the back of his t-shirt instead, feeling the warm, smooth skin and the way Lance’s muscles shifted when he turned his head, shifted his weight, pushed closer. Keith felt like there was some invisible tether attaching them to each other, something in the center of his hips tugging closer and closer and urging him to get close enough to Lance to crawl inside his skin. 

Then Lance bit down hard enough to leave an angry bruise, sending shocks of pain through Keith’s system and actually pulling a yelp out of him. And Keith responded the only way that made sense. He dug his fingernails into the top of Lance’s shoulders and pulled down, scratching blazing hot lines down his otherwise perfect skin. 

The sound Lance made was unholy, hips canting forward and spit slick mouth falling open wantonly. For a second he was trembling, and when that ended he dropped his head into the crook of Keith’s neck and groaned- not a sex noise. More like an embarrassment noise. 

Keith had needed a few seconds to process what had just happened. 

“Wait… did you just come?” 

Lance buried his face tighter against Keith’s neck and made the most pitiful noise in the world. “Shut up,” he whined. Little did Keith know, he was winding his way up towards a miniature breakdown. 

“I didn’t even feel that coming, oh my God, it just- fuck, I’m sorry, I know you’re not ready to make this a… like, y’know, a sex thing, and I didn’t mean t-” Keith had learned pretty quickly that if you didn’t cut the word vomit off quick, it could go on forever. He tangled his hand in Lance’s hair once again and tugged gently, dropping a kiss to the crown of Lance’s head as he did so. 

“Hey, it’s fine,” he said, trying and failing to come up with comforting words. He was too shocked, stuck in total awe at the fact that his boyfriend just orgasmed on top of him. But his brain wasn’t entirely useless, and it slowly pieced something together while he floundered. “Besides,” he added, after a moment’s hesitation. “I think I have an idea for our next scene.” 

In the presence it was Thursday, and the light of a fast moving sunset was pouring through the windows and painting Lance golden. 

“Green,” was Lance’s final response to Keith’s reminder. He rolled his shoulders and peeked back at Keith, eyes bright and playful, smile tugging at his lips. Keith patted his upper thigh with the bristly party of the brush, just enough to feel pressure, and watched Lance squirm from it. Then he dug the bristles in a little and dragged it down the back of his thigh. Lance dropped his head back to the mattress with a gasp. 

Keith traced the other thigh, up and down with just enough pressure to leave pink marks on Lance’s skin. He set the brush down in the center of Lance’s back and leaned in close, just inches from Lance’s skin, he curled his lips into an ‘o’ and blew. Lance actually keened at that. 

“Oh God,” he gasped, hands gripping into the bed covers. Keith ran his fingernails over his thighs, gently first and then harsh enough to burn. Lance kicked his legs ever so slightly against the bed, so Keith picked the brush back up and scraped the bristles from his shoulder to his hip, all along his left side. 

Lance moaned. 

“Problem?” Keith teased. 

Lance’s voice was just as playful. “Fuck you.” It quickly turned into a high pitched yelp when Keith flipped the brush over and snapped the wooden side down in a quick smack, hard enough to sting through the briefs he was wearing. Lance bucked against him once, then practically melted when Keith pressed the bristles against his skin and ground them down with the heel of his hand. 

“I knew you’d be into this,” he said, as Lance trembled underneath him. 

Lance came again that day, rutting against Keith’s thigh and melting into the bed like a boy-shaped puddle. Keith ran his hands over his skin, which was hot to the touch, and tried to rub some of the sting out of him. His entire back was painted red, along with the backs of his thighs and the cheeks of his ass where his underwear was hiked up in the middle. Keith released his wrists and kept petting him, soaking in the fire under his skin while Lance pieced himself together. 

As soon as he had, Lance shoved himself up off Keith’s lap and leapt at him, tackling Keith sideways onto the bed and knocking their mouths together. Keith just moaned into it and wrapped his arms around him, and it started just like it ended- with the two of them making out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any requests for scenes, my guys? we got the tickle torture coming up next time. what next? hit me up.


	3. Tickle Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Keith was blushing, breathing heavy, and most importantly clutching his sides like his life depended on it. Lance’s mouth spread into a leer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I had a scene yesterday that inspired me, and it had nothing to do with tickle torture, believe it or not. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm writing a chapter entirely based off that as we speak :)

Lance couldn’t believe it took him three months to realize his boyfriend was ticklish. 

 

It really was vital information that he should have been made aware of months ago; he wasn’t sure how it slipped past him for this long.But it wasn’t until mid-April, when he was hanging out with Keith in the library, that he came to realize this. 

 

Keith was ignoring him, quite purposefully, as he did when he was trying to study and thought Lance was being annoying. But Lance had older siblings, so a simple dose of the “silent treatment” wasn’t enough to deter him.When saying Keith’s name over and over again, shaking his arm, moving his notes, and propping his feet up on Keith’s lap got him nowhere, he went for a classic. 

 

He swooped in close, wrapped an arm around him, and dug his fingers into Keith’s sides. 

 

Keith, who had been silent for the past forty-five minutes except to grunt out annoyed noises and thwap Lance across the back of his head, let out a jarring screech and jumped away so quickly that he managed to topple sideways out of his chair. 

 

He hid the ground with a thud, and Lance toppled over with him so that his forearms were braced on the seat of Keith’s chair and he was staring down at him.Keith was blushing, breathing heavy, and most importantly clutching his sides like his life depended on it.Lance’s mouth spread into a leer. 

 

“Are you ticklish?” he asked, and though Keith didn’t say ‘yes,’ the answer was obvious. 

 

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, picking himself up off the floor with only a bit of a struggle.He glanced around the library, probably at the people staring at them now, and scowled.Lance didn’t care who was staring at them.He was too busy staring at his boyfriend. 

 

“You’re done studying?” Lance asked, and Keith shrugged. 

 

“Sure.” 

 

The ‘sure’ was a ‘yes’ to the tickling question, because if Keith would only be willing to leave the library early if he was trying to appease Lance into dropping it.Set, point, match.Lance could take advantage of this new information. 

 

And he did, several times over the next week.He snuck up behind Keith and work and dug his fingers into his sides, relishing in the way Keith gasped and jumped away, a little less excited when Keith hit him on the shoulder with a dirty wash rag.He used it while they were playing video games, letting go of his Wii controller to squeeze Keith’s knee.Keith actually yelped at that one, jerking away and bumping right into Pidge, who’d been perched precariously on her knees in a hyper focus and ended up sprawled across Hunk when she landed. 

 

Hunk squeezed himself between the two of them after that one, purposefully making an obstacle Lance couldn’t reach around to get to Keith.When he tried, Hunk wrapped him across the knuckles none too gently with his game controller, and Lance spent the rest of the game sulking at him and sucking on his sore hand. 

 

But that wasn’t the end of it.He got Keith several times following that.One of his favorites was when they were making out, and Lance pulled Keith in close and nuzzled against the side of his neck. 

 

Keith actually laughed at that one, entirely caught of guard, and then pinned Lance more firmly to the bed and kissed the daylights out of him.Lance was too distracted to do anything else, but it had been well worth it.

 

It all came to a head when Lance went for Keith’s foot.They were studying outside, trying to soak in the fresh air now that the wind had died down and the early spring was already starting to feel like summer.It was eighty-five degrees two weeks after Easter, and Lance was barefoot in shorts and a tank top. 

 

He really was living his best life, he thought. 

 

Keith was also barefoot, and Lance tried to take advantage of that, but his hand barely grasped around Keith’s ankle before he was yanking it away and rolling onto his back, sitting up with his knees and arms tucked in like Lance had just challenged him to a grappling match. 

 

Keith had been practicing wrestling with Hunk lately, actually learning techniques instead of just rolling around like idiots.Lance didn’t trust his chances there. 

 

“Okay, what the hell?” Keith snapped, drawn in tight and defensive.Lance gaped at him. 

 

Keith continued, “If you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna hurt you, and you’re not going to like it.” 

 

That was an empty threat.Keith would never, first of all.They’d talked about it already, and it was pretty clear that the only time Keith would hit someone out of anger was in self-defense.More likely than not, if he was angry, he was going to run off and hide.Lance had experienced that more than once.

 

Second of all, any way Keith touched him, Lance was bound to like just a little.

 

“Actually,” he said, rolling over to sit up and giving Keith his most charming smile, which he only broke out when he really needed to get away with something.“I’ve been thinking….” 

 

Keith sat up properly and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, which was fair.“What…?” he asked slowly.Lance turned the smile up a notch.

 

“We should try tickle torture sometime,” he said, and watched a blush spread over Keith’s cheeks.Lance had done a bit of research after the video game incident.He knew what Keith looked like when he was turned on.He was making that face right now. 

 

And that was definitely something he wanted to pursue. 

 

“Um…” Keith answered, and it was nice to see him bashful for a change.“Yeah, um, sure.” 

 

Lance smiled at him, bright and beaming.“Awesome.” 

 

Keith smiled back, just slightly.“Awesome.” 

 

 

 

…

 

 

In retrospect, they really should have tied Keith down for this. 

 

When the day of reckoning was upon them, Keith was far more excited than he had been for their initial conversation.Lance himself was beyond ecstatic.He knelt over Keith’s hips and ran his hands over Keith’s chest, which was bare and soft and _awesome_.The only thing either of them were wearing was their boxers, and Lance could see the indents of the abs on Keith’s stomach, the left over bite mark on the meat between Keith’s shoulder and neck, and the hair that trailed from Keith’s belly button and disappeared under his waist band. 

 

Lance traced his fingertip over it, soaking up the way Keith squirmed slightly and wrinkled his nose up, trying so hard to hold still. 

 

“Cute,” Lance commented, and earned himself a scowl. 

 

“Don’t give me that face,” Lance scolded playfully, settling his hand on Keith’s side in a way that he hoped was threatening.Forewarning, at least.“Who’s on top here?” 

 

Keith narrowed his eyes and raised his chin.“Do something about it, then,” he responded, and well, Lance could work with that. 

 

It didn’t go as smoothly as Lance imagined it would.Keith bucked like a fish out of water, and Lance spent more time trying to _not_ fall off the bed than actually tickling. 

 

Worth it, though, because Keith honest to God _giggled_ , and he threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut and howled, and Lance was having the time of his life. 

 

That was, until Keith managed to slip one of his arms free and throw it out to stop him, and Lance ignored it in favor of pushing his fingers into Keith’s hip, where he was _especially_ ticklish.And Keith screamed, and he threw an arm out in panic, and his fist connected with the side of Lance’s face and took him _down_. 

 

 

“Oh my God!” Keith yelped.

 

Lance hit the floor with a groan, the force of impact knocking Lance off balance.With the narrowness of the twin bed, Lance had no room to catch himself, and the floor was incredibly unforgiving from the three foot drop. 

 

“Ouch,” he groaned, putting his hand over his eye and hissing in a breath through his teeth.“Ow, _Keith_ , Jesus.” 

 

“I’m so sorry!” Keith said, scrambling off the bed and kneeling on the floor next to Lance.“Oh my God, your face, oh fuck, I’m so sorry.” He wrapped his fingers around Lance’s wrist and pulled his hand down from his face.Lance was squeezing his eye shut, and it hurt a little too much for him to try and open it.Keith brushed his fingertips over what _had_ to be a bruise forming, and Lance hissed in another pained breath. 

 

“Oh my God.” 

 

“Babe, it’s fine,” Lance replied. 

 

“I’m so sorry.” 

 

“It’s okay.” He leaned in and pecked Keith on the lips, trying to calm him down.Keith kept on staring at him with that frightened expression.“It’s okay,” Lance insisted.“It’s fine.Breathe.” 

 

“I punched you in the face,” Keith said, still gaping.Lance giggled. 

 

“Do I look bad ass?” 

 

“You look _bruised._ ” 

 

Lance giggled again and said, overjoyed, “My boyfriend gave me a black eye.Domestic violence!I’m calling the cops!” 

 

“Shut up,” Keith complained, face going a brilliant shade of red before he hid his face in the crook of Lance’s neck.“I’m so sorry.” 

 

“You’re gonna pay for this,” Lance mock threatened, nipping at the shell of Keith’s ear.“Just you wait.We’re tying you down next time.” 

 

Keith groaned and made a quiet, pathetic noise. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“You’re adorable.” 

 

 

…

 

 

 

“Do I want to know?” Hunk asked, handing Lance a cold can of soda for him to press to his eye.Keith flushed red and stared fixedly at the floor.Lance barely suppressed a snicker.

 

“Probably not.” 

 

Hunk sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.Lance beamed, entirely unashamed of himself. Keith dropped his head onto Lance’s shoulder and sighed like a dying man. 

 

At least Hunk wasn’t threatening to kill him this time.


	4. Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Forty-five seconds later, Ketih determined that he was actually pretty trapped."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Mikey!

Keith should have known from day one that introducing Shiro and Lance would end in nothing but trouble for him. He should have known. As much as Shiro likes to pretend he’s serious and put together and mature, Keith knows the truth. He knows that, when Shiro feels like it, he’s just as bad as Lance is. 

Keith also should have known that when Shiro texted him and told him to meet him near Cottage Grove, all the way on the dark side of campus, that they were up to something. He should have known, and yet he turned a blind eye, following Lance’s directions without thought while reading a text that said, by the dumpster. 

He went to the dumpster and found it deserted, just like the alleyway it stood in. The building he was behind had no windows opening towards the back, and there was no one in the area to see him. Perfectly secluded. Creepy.

He should have known better. 

But he didn’t, because he was an idiot, and the sound of crunching gravel behind him was the only warning he got before there was something thick and dark in front of his eyes, over his nose and mouth. 

“Hey!” he shouted, lashing out instantly, and whoever it was that grabbed him shoved there fingers into his open mouth. Keith bit down and got no result. Their hand was protected by the thick canvas material that was making it hard to breath. 

His attacker wrenched his arms up behind his back and swept his feet out from under him, and the next thing Keith knew he was being frog-marched forward. A nearby voice whisper-shouted, “Hurry up, come on!” 

A hand pushed down on the back of his neck, making him duck. Another shoved roughly in the middle of his back, and then Keith was falling forward. An arm from behind wrapped around the middle of his chest and caught him before he could crash down face first, but not before he could bang his shin viciously against something hard and metal. 

He was manhandled into what he assumed was a car, and- yep, definitely a car. A door slammed closed, and gravel spun out behind them as whoever was driving stepped on it. Keith growled under the hood he was wearing, swinging his head and trying to smack into the person next to him. His forehead bumped against the palm of someone’s hand and he stilled. Then the hood was pulled off. 

Shiro looked far too proud of himself. “You bastard,” Keith spat, earning him a flick to the forehead. “What the fuck?” 

“It was Lance’s idea,” Shiro said, feigning innocence. Keith narrowed at the boy in the driver’s seat, who blew him a kiss in the rearview mirror that Keith had no intentions of returning. 

Keith turned his glare back on Shiro and snarled, “Where the fuck are you taking me?” and almost immediately he found his mouth full of fabric. Again. He tried to spit it out and was unsuccessful, instead finding himself with his head pressed back against the headrest and Shiro’s hand firmly covering his jaw, holding him in place. 

He said, “We’re going to a party at Thace’s,” and Keith blinked absently at him. Oh right. How had he forgotten?

“So forgetful,” Lance tutted patronizingly. Keith would have glared at him if he could move his head. Shiro patted his cheek and drew back his attention. 

“We’re going to tie your wrists together where nobody can see and gag you. I know you hate talking during these parties anyways. If this isn’t okay, kick me.” 

Shiro always phrased things so calmly and matter-of-fact, even when he was in the process of something totally insane like kidnapping. Keith glanced down at their legs and found Shiro totally within kicking range. He kept his legs still. He was curious. 

Shiro waited a few more seconds before speaking again, “If this is okay,” he said this time, “kick me.” Keith stared at him, considered his options, and then kicked Shiro in the shin. Shiro smiled and cupped Keith’s cheek in the palm of his hand.

“Good boy.”

Keith scowled. “If you want out at any time during the night, you’re going to bump your forehead against one of our shoulders,” Shiro said, tapping Keith’s shoulder with his fist. “One of us will be with you at all times tonight, okay?” 

Keith could have just nodded. Instead he used their code from seconds before and kicked Shiro in the shin. Shiro laughed. 

“Brat.” Keith did not let any amusement be conveyed through his expression, but he was pretty complaint as Shiro moved through the next steps of his plan. There wasn’t enough room to fight properly in the back seat of Shiro’s car, not without kicking Lance and crashing them into oncoming traffic. Instead he did his best to struggle and pull against the scarf Shiro was securing around his wrists. He’d pulled one of his hands through his hoodie pocket before doing so, and now Keith understood what he’d meant. When Shiro finished the knot and righted his clothes, Keith’s bound wrists were hidden away within his kangaroo pocket. 

His wrists were bound, and Keith could feel where the bandana was secured into a knot against the base of his skull. He ground his teeth against the fabric, testing. It was already moist with spit. He tugged at his arms and threw his head around and did everything he could think of to shake himself free. Shiro sat back and watched him. 

Forty-five seconds later, Ketih determined that he was actually pretty trapped. Even if he could get his hands free, he’d just be tangled up in his hoodie. He sighed heavily through his nose and sagged back against the seat. 

“Good boy,” Shiro said again, and Keith growled. The car rolled to a stop, and Lance hummed happily. 

Keith tried protesting when Shiro threw the hood back over his head again, and he made a noise of outrage behind the gag as he was manhandled out of the car and tossed effortlessly over Shiro’s shoulder. He bucked and squirmed and earned himself a smack to the ass for his efforts, then went still. 

“Fuck you,” he mumbled behind the gag, knowing it came out absolutely incoherent. A hand patted him on the back, and it must have been Lance’s, not because both of Shiro’s were holding onto the backs of Keith’s thighs to keep him still, but because of the way it steadied him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally don't like kidnapping as a kink, just because I don't believe you'll ever find a place where you're 100% free of the chance of an innocent bystander seeing you, and I am adamant about respecting people's boundaries and not making people witness things they don't want to witness.
> 
> That being said, I am not the kink gatekeeper. Tried to put the boys in a place where nobody risked the chance of noticing. Whatever. Play safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always a slut for Allura and Shiro being soft and gentle with each other. 
> 
> Something you want to see? Comment or shoot me a message at punks-n-rec.tumblr.com 
> 
> Scenes coming up- a tickle torture extravaganza, and Keith and Lance and The Hairbrush (mentioned in the last chapter of The Outfield. Someone wanted to know more)


End file.
